Quick Question: How would you guys feel about Holiday Side Chapters? I thought about it, and I figure it's definitely something we could do, even if we're not to those holidays in the story. They'd be plotless, spoilerless future!fluff, and I dunno, I just thought it might be fun to try? I figured Halloween, Christmas, maybe Thanksgiving? Let me know what you think, we've got a bit of time to think on it, but it sounds fun, so I'm down if you guys would like it.
Also Head Up: Pretty soon (within the next few chapters) I'm going to have to rewatch a bit of the show to refresh my memory, and I don't know how that's going to jive with my work/sleep schedules, so just FYI, after the next couple chapters or so, there might be a small break. VERY SMALL, I SWEAR. I would hope less than a month, but like I said I don't know how much I need to watch, how much time I'll have, or how much energy I'll have, but I'll try to get a plot figured out ASAP, so please stick with me.

WillDawg: Is that really what you want? Well~... Ask and ye shall receive!

Enjoy, guys!

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Chekhov's gun is a storytelling proverb which suggests "if you mention a gun in your story, it must go off by the end"...

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~click~

Scott came from the locker room, dressed to play, praying he wouldn't, and stalked straight over to Stiles, who stood only as he saw Scott. "Hey! Where's Derek? Is he out yet?" Stiles sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't know, he hasn't texted me yet." Scott panicked slightly, though Stiles kept a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Do you think he'll make it? Stiles, I don't-" Stiles cut him off.

"Hey, he said he'd be here. Either way, you'll be fine." Scott scoffed skeptically. "You probably won't even have to play. And if you do- Hey." Stiles patted Scott's cheek comfortingly. "I believe in you. Okay? You can handle this." Scott rolled his eyes, fidgeting. Coach came over then, not quite attentive, but he couldn't blame him, as the man was caught up with getting the entire team ready for their first game.

"McCall, kid, you doing alright?" Scott's breath caught on an inhale.

"I'm... here, Coach." Finstock sighed but nodded.

"Gotcha. Keep an eye on things though. I want you ready, just in case. Kay?" Scott nodded hesitantly, but nodded all the same and Coach patted his back. "That's my boy." Scott sighed, because as coach disappeared, Lydia and Jackson approached. Although Allison was with them and she smiled at him. Lydia hugged Stiles, and nodded at Scott as she stepped back to Jackson's side.

"Hello boys. Ready for the big game?" Lydia smiled between them, before nodding to Scott again, this time with a frown. "Stiles told us about your cousin. Condolences, Scott." Allison nodded sympathetically.

"We can't believe you even managed to come. It's really strong of you to be here for the team, Scott." Scott smiled softly and tried to give a humble shrug. Jackson slapped him on the shoulder though, and he looked over confused. Jackson's smirk was probably meant to be reassuring, but just seemed arrogant, given how much Scott knew of him.

"Don't worry, McCall. No way these losers are taking me off the field. You won't even have to play." Lydia smiled at Jackson, then turned back to them.

"And once we win, we can all do something to celebrate. Maybe Derek can even join? Is he here?" Stiles gave another glance over his shoulder at the bleachers, but didn't see Derek.

"He said he'd try to make it. He's bit busy today, but I'm sure he'll show at some point..." Lydia nodded, smiling.

"Can't wait to meet him then." Allison nodded.

"We'll have to invite him over to sit with us." Scott made a less than pleased face that everyone ignored, save Stiles. "So, Stiles, are you gonna play?" Stiles scoffed, a bit flustered.

"Hell no, man, I suck. Only way Coach is pulling me off the bench is if half the team drops dead." The last person Scott or Stiles expected to protest was Jackson, but he shook his head.

"Don't be modest, Stilinski. You've been kicking ass in practice. If we can't have McCall on the field, you're probably the best bench warmer we could play." Stiles scratched at the back of his head, the way he did when he was at a loss for words.

"Thanks, Jackson. I'm touched." Stiles said monotonously. Jackson rolled his eyes, and Stiles spoke again in the same voice. "No, really. I mean it." Jackson gave a dismissive shake of his head and shoved Stiles.

"Just don't fuck up my game, Stilinski." Jackson walked away to finish getting ready and Lydia rolled her eyes though she smiled all the while. Allison nudged Scott shoulder before bidding them both adieu.

"We'll see you guys after the game, kay? Go Cyclones." They sighed and sat back down on the bench as the girls climbed back up into the bleachers.

~click~

The boys tried to cheer their captain and the rest of the team as enthusiastically as possible, having no other outlet for their competitive spirits, but the game had soon proved to be little more than a blood game. The way the competition was bulldozing their players had half of those hit limping back to the bench. Playing the offensive was like running shoulders first into a herd of bulls. They couldn't even tell whether the other team was trying for injuries or if they really were just a bunch of bulls in a people shop. The only ones not injured still on the bench were Scott, Stiles, and Greenberg. And their defense wasn't doing much better, Jackson and their only other first line middie still left on the field had both just gotten thrown to the ground hard, and Scott was almost sick hearing the twist of a joint for the 3rd time that night. The game halted when Sullivan didn't get back on his feet. Couldn't get back on his feet. Jackson and Coach had to help him back to the bench. Most had limped off their twisted ligaments, but Sullivan was probably going to have to go to the hospital tonight. Coach took the moment he had with Jackson to think of their next course of action though.

"You good?" Jackson grimaced and rolled his shoulder but nodded all the same.

"Better than half our team." Coach gave a quick glance at their players, and their wounded prides.

"We can either put Greenberg on as a D-man and put one of them on-" Jackson shook his head.

"Do not put Greenberg out. He wouldn't last a second out there! Sullivan would do us more good than Greenberg!" Coach shrugged irritably.

"Who else am I supposed to put out? If I play McCall, I could lose my two best players in one play!" Jackson stamped his foot.

"Play Stilinski. Him I can at least work with!" Coach looked confused.

"Who?" Jackson looked back at him, dumbstruck.

"Stiles Stilinski? He's sitting next to McCall?" Coach looked over, and Scott looked away to void making eye contact.

"His last name's Stilinski? Who names a kid Stiles Stillin-"

"Coach!" Jackson urged, hurrying Finstock.

"He hasn't played yet?" Jackson shook his head, and Coach patted his shoulder with a grin. "He's fast."

"Small too." Jackson added.

"He's in." Coach said, moving around Jackson toward the boys on the bench. Scott panicked slightly.

"Coach, I can go in."

"No you can't McCall. Jackson's on his last legs. I need you to take over if he's gets taken out. Stiles, get in there." Stiles stared, shocked.

"Wait, What- Really?"

"Yes, 'really', you're on the field, Stilinski, now!" Stiles got up, stunned, but Coach pulled him aside.

"Stiles, look at me." Stiles turned to look at Finstock, steeling his nerves. "You're small, you're fast, you fidget like a scared rabbit-"

"That's because I'm very fragile and constantly terrified, Coach." Finstock nodded.

"And reckless as hell."

"The words you're looking for are 'clumsy' and 'borderline suicidal'." Coach nodded.

"And smart. So, if anyone on this team can get by those frickin' wildebeests, it's you. We're counting on you, kid." Stiles nodded. "And Stiles!" Stiles turned back, almost tripping.

"Yes, Coach."

"Do not die on my field." Stiles only nodded sheepishly, turning back. Jackson surprised him with a firm whack on his shoulder.

"Just get us past their D-men and give me the ball, Stilinski, and we'll be crushing these guys in no time." Stiles nodded, trying to believe him.

. bang .

When Derek arrived, the cheering rivaled the noise the game itself caused. Understandably so, as it did look like an exciting game. He saw Scott on the bench, enthusiastically cheering his own heart out too, and made his way towards him, scanning the front rows of the bleachers for a seat. "Hey." He called abandoning his search to get Scott's attention. Scott nodded his hello, eyes quick to return to the field. Derek glanced across the bench at the line of sore players, thankful Scott hadn't been thrown in while he was dealing with paper work. "Where's Stiles?" Scott pointed out to the game, smiling, and Derek quickly took to scanning the field for Stiles.

"Number 24! Stiles has gotten 5 out of 8 assists! He's only been in like... a quarter and a half maybe?" Derek looked back at the bench.

"You're kidding. How has he even been in that long? It looks like they destroyed your first string." Scott shrugged.

"Stiles is good like that. He's gotten hit a few times, but he's taking it like a champ." Derek looked back at the field as everyone started yelling again, Scott included. "YES, GO STILES, GO!" 14 had passed almost directly sideways to Stiles as he passed, and Stiles took off like a bullet, making it up field in what felt like a second. He practically fell through the other team's defense, but caught himself on the stumble, and passed across the entire offensive area, to 37, who whipped it to the goal before any defensivemen could switch their focus to him, and a noise signaling a point blared, and Stiles fell, rolling up field slightly. Derek shook his head with a smile, as a charitable D-man helpfully pulled Stiles back to his feet.

"And how's your defensive line coming?" Derek would admit he knew next to nothing about lacrosse, but he'd been in a couple sports when he was younger, and remembered the most common of mechanics well enough.

"Well, we're tied, so-" Scott cried out happily. "AND WE'VE GOT THE BALL. YES!" Scott looked back over to him calming almost instantly. "And everyone's working together crazy well? Like... Stiles really got the team rallied." Scott clapped, catching sight of the field apparently. "And there he goes!"

Derek looked back, casual as ever, enjoying all this. But his heart started to pound in his chest. He didn't know what to make of the sudden panic, but he knew it terrified him. He hoped it would prove to be nothing, eyes following Stiles' quick jittery movements, up the field, dodging as a rival went to check him. Everything began to slow around him, but he was frozen absolutely solid. Stiles stopped on a dime just before he hit the offensive area, hesitating a moment as if somewhere else completely, before he seem to realize his circumstances, another player barreling towards him. Stiles passed up field to who the fuck cared. The other player didn't pull back. It didn't seem like he'd even noticed the pass. It wouldn't matter if he had, the momentum behind him what it was.

Derek wanted to squeeze his eyes shut. He knew what was going to happen, that no matter what it was going to be some degree of not good. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to not be able to do anything. But he couldn't look away.

Because the next second was the crack.

The next Stiles was practically throw over this guy's shoulder, and it wasn't even another before Stiles hit the ground, agonizingly hard.

He could hardly even make sense of what had happened in the silence afterwards. The player stood from where he had knelt down, flagging down the ref, the coaches, anyone.

Everyone seemed to unfreeze at that same moment, time returning to its much too fast pace. Coach Finstock was bolting across the field before the ref had even moved, the crowd gasped and murmured softly, and Derek; Derek was being pushed back to the sidelines before he'd even realized he'd stepped onto the field. He grabbed at the arm of whoever's hands were tight on his, ready to protest, ready to insist in his panic that he needed to go make sure Stiles was okay, but somehow the grip stayed firm, and Derek tried to lend his attention to whoever had the presence of mind to stop him.

"There's nothing you can do for him now that will be any less effective once things have calmed down." Stiles' adoptive father insisted, voice gravelly, but soft and firm. Derek shook his head regardless, his panic and worry getting the best of him.

"But he's hurt." He could only describe his voice as a desperate growl, as if that was some justified explanation. Castiel nodded.

"I'm aware, but you aren't going to change that by running out there and causing a scene. They'll have him off the field soon, and we'll be able to see him then. Until then, you must allow the officials to do their jobs, and try to provide a good example..." Derek saw Castiel glance to Scott, but all he could do was bow his head, and bite his lip.

It wasn't fair for this to be asked of him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to fret, and he wanted to lose his composure, even for a minute. He wanted to be allowed to worry about his boyfriend. He wanted to feel this pain without having to think about being a role model, or having to worry that it could get him killed. He wanted to crumple up in someone's arms and he wanted someone whose arms he could crumple up into. Derek let go of Castiel, though not hearing a word he was saying anymore, too stuck in his head. But Cas walked away, and Derek meandered back to where he'd stood by the benches. He looked down at Scott as he felt a hand nudge his knee. He nudged Scott's shoulder in return before he had a chance to speak.

"Keep calm, everything's alright... If they put you in I'll be right here for you." Scott raised his voice suddenly. Not loudly, but it was an alarming switch from his soft and comforting puppy dog face to his offended, scolding tone.

"Don't be stupid! Go with Cas to the hospital! Make sure he's alright. One of us should be there for him!" Derek wanted to listen, but resisted, not sure about leaving Scott all on his own.

"And he'd say one of us should be here for you." Scott huffed angrily.

"If he could say that, we wouldn't be having this conversation! He's unconscious, Derek, he's hurt! I'll be fine, he isn't! I'm telling you to go." Derek looked at Scott. He didn't know whether Scott was right or, if Derek just believed him because he wanted to go.

"Scott-"

"I brought my inhaler." Scott whispered firmly, so only Derek would hear. "If I get worried I'm losing control, I'll fake an attack so I can catch my breath." Derek nodded and patted Scott's shoulder.

"You're good?"

"No. But I'm under control."